


the kind of human wreckage you love

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mild Gore, Slurs, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29224197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: Jerome's heart skips a beat when he spots the shard of glass in Bruce's trembling fingers. He can feel his breath quickening and is absolutely certain that his eyes are lighting up. "Do it."
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska (implied), Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	the kind of human wreckage you love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvaleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvaleska/gifts).



> i know what y'all are thinking. the twinleska supremacist is posting VALEYNE? what the fuck happened?
> 
> well. cherryvaleska happened.
> 
> valeyne is my darling boy's otp and that's reason enough to attempt to write it. i still don't really ship it because a shock goes through my body whenever i think about a ship that is not twinleska (its a condition) buuut he's made me enjoy it several times in the past because he's just that amazing of a writer. for all the valeyne and wayleska shippers out there, if you're in desperate need for quality content (every shipper is, always) check out his fics, he is AMAZING and i BOW before his art.  
> i quite enjoyed exploring the different dynamic between these two. very much a new experience for me (especially because i've never written anything with bruce before lol) annnnnd yeah i hope it's at least a little bit enjoyable. 
> 
> sooo hello valeyne tag. my name is jam and you haven't seen me before. i am not sure you will again lol but i do hope you enjoy this and remember to check out my man cherryvaleska. 
> 
> ALSO the title was his idea too lol its from a my chemical romance song. this fic literally wouldn't exist without him. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this, baby boy. i love you. 💕
> 
> to everyone else reading this, i hope you guys enjoy it too!
> 
> ~ jam 💙

Jerome highly doubts that Bruce has ever been in a fistfight before. Or at the very least, not many. His knuckles are soft and fragile, Jerome can hear them crack with every punch. At this rate, the kid is going to break his own hands before he breaks Jerome's jaw.

But oh, he's putting his heart and soul into it, that's for certain. It's almost blissful to see this pretty face contorted into a grimace of burning hatred, soft, heart-shaped lips trembling with rage as Bruce Wayne, the pure, good Prince of Gotham finally lets loose. Jerome is fascinated to his very core, and he feels pride well up in his chest, taking his breath away for second.

 _He_ did this. He broke this virtuous boy enough to get him to cross the line he drew for himself. Once again, Jerome has corrupted innocence. Oh, it brings back memories, re-opening the scarred wound in his heart as Bruce's features merge with his former mirror image, a corruption that ended in Jerome's doom.

It burns. But it burns so _good_.

"That's it", Jerome presses out between giggles, several of the staples that keep the skin of his face attached to the muscle tissue already coming loose. He hopes some of them pierce through Bruce's own flesh. He hopes they leave scars. If for the very slim chance that Bruce Wayne might actually kill Jerome Valeska tonight, he hopes Gotham's pretty little prince will have something to remember him by. " _That's it_."

Jerome is getting dizzy but he doubts it's from the punches. Oh, Bruce can hold his own, that much is evident. But growing up with Zachary Trumble as an uncle, Jerome's tolerance for pain is quite high (well, it developed over the years). Nooo, what has his mind fogging up is that the punches now come in shorter intervals and yet, with more force.

The delicious sting that shoots through Jerome's body tells him that the crack he's heard just now wasn't Bruce's knuckles and Jerome eats it _up_. He's writhing under Bruce now, groaning and it's just so, _so_ inconvenient that Bruce positioned himself so high up Jerome's torso. Jerome would've loved to see his reaction to the way his pants start to tent. 

Jerome's heart skips a beat when he spots the shard of glass in Bruce's trembling fingers. He can feel his breath quickening and is absolutely certain that his eyes are lighting up. " _Do it_."

Jerome truly believes it for a second, truly believes that Bruce is going to kill him. It's a beautiful thought, an immensely satisfying way to purchase his ticket to hell. He's never going to leave Bruce alone if he goes through with it, the gorgeous little thing is going to wake up in cold sweat every night, plagued by nightmares of Jerome's ripped throat. He'll remember that _he_ was the one to do it and his pretty blue eyes will overflow with drops of despair. 

What a delicious thing to imagine. Jerome's pants are becoming _painfully_ tight on him. 

Albeit Jerome isn't sure what excites him the most. The fact that Bruce Wayne is going to kill him, or the fact that he's going to do it with a mirror.

If Miah was here, he probably wouldn't appreciate the symbolism. His baby brother never much enjoyed taking the blame for anything.

Jerome's burning excitement is oh so cruelly dulled to a flickering little flame when Bruce hesitates. The rage in his eyes is simmering for a second before it fades, leaving deep blue oceans haunted by a storm. And not the kind of storm Jerome likes.

~~_"Don't be a baby. Do it."_ ~~

His own voice rings in his ears, not yet mauled by the ghost of a blade and of a higher pitch, but it holds the same snide tone Jerome's voice possesses to this day. A power that's only just starting to bloom.

Bruce lets out a yell. He slumps over, his breath coming out in rapid gasps, as if the thought of what he was about to do completely broke his pure little mind. It's so ridiculously dramatic that it makes Jerome's skin crawl in disgust. These are not the kind of parallels Jerome wants to experience. 

~~_"Come on, Miah. Just slide it down."_ ~~

His own hand wrapped around an identical one, trying to guide the trembling fingers grasping the pocket knife. Close. So _close_. Jerome's chest filled with pride, ready to burst. 

_~~"Jerome, I...I c-can't..!"~~ _

Jerome is staring into Bruce's eyes but for an endless moment, it's not Bruce he sees. Blue becomes green, framed by a pair of broken glasses, filling with those pesky crocodile tears.

" ~~ _I'm...I'm not...I'm not like you._~~ "

 _Yeah, you are_ , Jerome finds himself thinking bitterly, remembering Jeremiah's muffled little cries when Jerome shoved him into the dirt and started punching. He'll never learn otherwise. He'll never accept his true nature if Jerome doesn't get him to break.

Break. _Break_. 

Jerome sees his own hand shoot forward before he even realizes it, his gloved fingers closing around the pretty pink throat he's been wanting to slice since he woke up. Bruce sucks in a breath, probably more out of surprise than anything, but the quickened pulse beneath his hand makes Jerome's skin prickle nonetheless.

He moves swiftly, too swiftly for the delicate boy to react as his back meets the floor and Jerome is on top of him in the blink of an eye, his free hand pinning Bruce's wrist down, the shard of glass now uselessly shaking in his trembling fingers. 

"Geez, Bruce, ya really had me there for a second." Jerome sighs, his grip on Bruce's wrist tightening. He's leaning his entire weight on the hand around Bruce's throat, the choked gurgle sending a pleasant shiver down Jerome's spine. Oh, it's a beautiful sight, Bruce's eyes wide open, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He's trying to push at Jerome's chest with his free hand but no use. All it does is make Jerome giggle. "Gotta say, I'm kinda...underwhelmed."

Bruce is still struggling underneath him, uselessly kicking his legs and snarling as if he wasn't the tiny puppy at the big bad wolf's mercy. It's...absolutely _adorable_ and Jerome's giggle sounds almost fond, he thinks himself.

"Buuuuut..." Jerome has done this enough times with several unwilling participants (it's so much more fun when they're unwilling) to be quick about shifting Bruce to lay on how stomach, pinning his hand to his back and wrenching the shard of glass out of his other hand. He makes sure to press the tip against Bruce's throat right as he gasps in a breath of air.

Jerome's face is pulsating and he can feel a dangerous strain in his skin at the grin that is pulling at the corners of his mouth. He almost hopes the staples give out. But not yet. Not until Bruce is looking up at him again. If no one (especially not a certain self-righteous cop) interferes there should be more than enough time for that. "I'm pretty sure ya can make it up to me ~"

With that, he pointedly grinds his rock hard cock down against Bruce's ass and _oh_ , the way his breath hitches, his slender body tensing up. Jerome knows that Bruce knows what is going to happen and somehow, that makes it even better. Because there's no stopping this, no way for the pretty billionaire brat to weasel or buy his way out of this. That's probably an entirely new experience for the kid.

Well. Among _other_ _things_ , or so Jerome hopes.

"You can't -" Bruce's voice sounds so feeble, it's wavering and barely audible. What a drastic change from the fake authoritarian tone he usually regards Jerome with. It makes him smile even wider. "You can't mean...not...not even _you_ would -"

Now that is _legitimately_ hilarious and Jerome has no problem with expressing as much. He barks out a laugh, loud and honest. "I blow people up for _fun_ , Brucey boy." He slides the shard of glass over Bruce's throat in a bizarre caress. "I slit throats when I'm bored. Carve out hearts as souvenirs."

Well, maybe that's a little exaggerated. It was _one_ heart and he didn't exactly keep it. But Bruce doesn't need to know that. Besides, the statement made him tense up even more and Jerome's mouth waters at the thought of how tense and tight _other places_ must be right now. 

He giggles, rolling his hips once and relishing in Bruce's strained gasp. "What, ya think I draw the line at _rape_? Oh, darlin'. It's probably the only thing that's as much fun as killing."

He leans forward, lips brushing Bruce's earlobe. "Better yet if _combined_." He flicks his tongue over Bruce's earlobe and the sound Bruce's makes is somewhere between a shriek and a whine and it's _delicious_. Bruce is delicious. He looks, smells, _tastes_ delicious and Jerome honestly can't remember that another person has ever made him feel this way before.

Well. Except one. But that's where the mirror comes in. Or used to. Probably won't work that well anymore.

Jerome's heart gives a painful clench and he dismisses the thought as quickly as it came. This isn't about what he lost. This is about what he gained. And what he _gained_ is a shiny new toy to play with, a beautiful doll that requires his undivided attention.

"Now, darling boy", Jerome coos, twisting Bruce's wrist and making him howl in pain. "How 'bout we get this show on the road?"

He keeps the shard in hand as he works Bruce's pants down (practice makes it possible) and the billionaire brat doesn't like that at all. He squirms and kicks and even starts hissing at him, _stop_ and _you won't get away with this_ but the most beautiful thing is when he forces out a tiny little _please_.

Jerome has always had a thing for begging but to hear _Bruce Wayne_ beg for him? Oh, it's magnificent. Perfect. The only thing that could be better than that would be -

"Please, _Jerome_..!"

...that. Jerome's stomach is on fire, his skin itching with the urge to _take claim make mine mine mine_. It's been so long, so very long since he's felt this way. He was just a child back then. Not quite broken. Not yet alone.

"Again, Bruce", Jerome all but growls, yanking Bruce's pants and boxers down without even having to undo his belt. Bruce is so, so tiny. "Say it again."

He let's a gloved hand rest on one of those firm cheeks before he smacks it, making Bruce shriek once more, his strained _please_ not exactly what Jerome wanted to hear. "EHHH", he mocks, imitating a buzzer on a generic game show, "try that again, pretty boy."

Jerome uses his teeth to get rid of the glove, wiggling his now freed fingers a little before smacking Bruce's ass again. Yes, _much_ better, Jerome can actually feel the smooth flesh, slightly heated from the treatment and he can definitely tell Bruce's shriek just now was of an even higher pitch.

"D-don't, please, Jerome..!"

Jerome giggles, kneading the sore spot and relishing Bruce's disapproving whine. "There's a good boy. Billionaire life does a lot in terms of manners, don't it?"

He keeps a tight grip on Bruce's wrist as he leans forward, pressing his still clothed groin against Bruce's bare ass, reveling in the tiny little gasps slipping from Bruce's lips. "Y'know, I've been thinking about this ever since the first time I saw ya."

Jerome hums fondly as he remembers, Bruce's big, frightened doe eyes, Bruce's trembling form in his arms, Bruce's tiny body almost swallowed by that suit that probably cost more than the trailer Jerome grew up in. 

"Ya were so tiny back then, Brucey, so soft and cute. Ya ain't got no idea how fucking hard -" He pauses, giggling at his own unintentional joke, circling his hips for good measure. "- _difficult_ it was not to bend ya over on that stage for all those people to see."

The thought is still an intriguing one and it followed Jerome through tonight's activities. Especially when he had Bruce all tied up, trying so hard to keep his posture. But the fact that Bruce was terrified didn't slip past him no matter how hard the kid tried to hide it.

Oh, and he's terrified now as well. So very terrified and Jerome wants to drown in his fear.

He's going to. 

* * *

Bruce is trembling beneath him, the fingernails of his free hand clawing at the floor. He's trying so hard to keep quiet but he can't help the shaky little whimpers escaping his throat as Jerome slams in and out of him. Jerome was right. This is an _entirely_ new experience for the pretty billionaire brat.

Jerome hums with delight, still a tight grip on Bruce's wrist, digging the nails of his other hand into Bruce's hip. The tight heat around his cock feels so good it makes him dizzy, his mouth falling open in a deep, satisfied moan. "Can't believe ya actually _spared_ yourself for me, darlin'. Didn't think ya cared so much."

He gives a particularly hard thrust that makes Bruce's body jerk forward, a broken little cry bursting out of him. It makes Jerome shiver and he stays put for a moment, reveling in the feel of Bruce around his cock. "You're gorgeous like this, y'know that, pretty boy? Almost makes me think ya were _made_ for me."

Jerome wishes it was true. He wishes the sole reason for this pure, gorgeous little thing to exist was to get tainted by him and him alone. But who's to say it isn't so? Bruce fits too perfectly beneath Jerome, fits too perfectly around his cock for this to not to be fate. Jerome doesn't believe in much but he firmly believes that certain things in this world are destined to be the way they are, while others are destined to be broken down, torn apart, destroyed to become something entirely new.

This, _this_ makes everything fall into place. This feels like belonging. Jerome is breaking, tearing, destroying Bruce Wayne in the rawest way possible and all is right in the world. "People always talk about how _unforgettable_ the 'first time' is but I think it's pretty safe to say that ya wouldn't forget this even if I didn't pop your boy cherry, huh, Brucey?"

Jerome leans forward as he circles his hips once, and Bruce whines, trying to hide his face from Jerome, pressing his forehead to the cold floor but nooo, Jerome isn't having that. He doubts Bruce is in a position to fight back much so he lets go of Bruce's wrist and wraps his hand around his pretty pink throat instead, _yanking_ , Bruce's pulse rapidly pounding beneath his hand as Jerome's lips brush Bruce's ear.

"Nah, you're gonna _remember_ this. You're gonna remember that I fucked you. And every time ya see my face on the news, or hear people mention my name in terror, you're gonna be reminded of taking my cock like a cheap little _whore_. "

He snaps his hips for emphasis, Bruce's throat vibrating with a gurgled cry. "Or, well." He nuzzles the side of Bruce's face in mock affection, reveling in the heat radiating from his skin. "Actually _cheap_ is a little mean. You're doin' _amazing_ , bet some of those old rich folks ya hang around would pay up _nicely_ to get a piece of that ass."

He gives said ass another smack and Bruce's body jerks forward once more. Still trying to get away. So stubborn. Adorable. "Wonder what they would do if they knew that I got it first though. Wonder what they would _think_."

Bruce tenses up at the implication and Jerome's chest bubbles with laughter. Nooo, the golden boy wouldn't want to be associated in that way with the likes of him. A lesser man would be offended but to Jerome, Bruce's (he dare say) _repulsion_ makes it all so much more appealing. "Did'cha know some people call me the _Clown Prince of Crime_?"

Its not a title Jerome particularly enjoys. He doesn't mind it really but _prince_ is a little too soft for his taste.

King? Legend? Visionary? Now _those_ are titles Jerome would be able to identify himself with. But his time will come. For now, Bruce strangled little gasp tells him that he _did_ hear the name before and Jerome smirks, the exposed muscle tissue throbbing at the strain. "Not really a big fan of that nickname buuut then again..."

Now for the _real_ appeal of fucking in a hall of mirrors. Jerome moves swiftly, sitting backwards and pulling Bruce with him, taking ahold of Bruce's to jaw to keep him from turning away. "Gotham's Golden Boy getting railed by Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime has a _very_ nice ring to it, don'tcha think?", he hisses in Bruce's ear before shifting his own gaze to look at their reflections in the mirror and _fuck_ -

His breath is momentarily taken away. His eyes roam over Bruce's face, his cheeks burning red, clown make up smeared, eyes overflowing with tears, his bottom lip trembling and bitten bloody. Bruce's front, his slender form, the porcelain skin tainted by dark purple bruises and bloody scratches Jerome left and (to Jerome's absolute delight) Bruce's half-hard cock twitching despite (or maybe because of) Jerome's neglect for the sake of being as _mean_ as possible to the little brat.

But...seeing him now, bruised, broken and _beautiful_ Jerome thinks the kid deserves a little reward...

"Don't _we_ make a pair, little prince", Jerome coos in Bruce's ear, keeping the grip on Bruce's jaw while snaking his other hand down Bruce's body, tracing the bruises, the cuts, relishing in the tremble of soft flesh beneath his hand until he finally wraps his hand around the base of Bruce's cock. And not surprisingly, Bruce tenses up, eyes going wide and finding Jerome's gaze through the mirror, pleading him with the intensity of a five year old boy that got caught stealing some bread after not eating for two days.

 _Oddly specific_ , Jerome thinks briefly but he doesn't dwell on it because for what seems like the first time in hours, Bruce is talking again. Well. Attempting to.

"D-don't..!"

So meek, barely audible. Jerome snaps his hips once, tickling another one of those gorgeous little cries out of him that makes his voice more firm, almost demanding, definitely pleading. "Jerome, _don't!"_

Bruce's hand finds Jerome's wrist, shaky fingers wrapping around it, making Jerome's heart skip a beat. "Please...Jerome, _please_. Don't...make me..!"

He trails off, cheeks burning even redder now, his embarrassment is almost endearing. Of course Jerome knows what he's talking about and it makes him grin, once more setting a rhythm, thrusting into Bruce and making him squeeze his eyes shut as he whines. "Don't make ya...what? Huh?"

Bruce's hold isn't enough to stop Jerome's hand from starting to move. "Ya don't wanna cum? Hmm?"

He moves his hand in alignment with his thrusts, Bruce squirming and whimpering and driving Jerome insane in the best way possible. "Brucey boy doesn't wanna cum on my cock? Spill his load all over my hand? That it? Huh, darlin'? Ya don't want the big bad rapist to make ya enjoy this?"

Bruce is positively sobbing now and Jerome licks from his shoulder over his neck, cackling against the soft skin. "Imma make ya cum so hard you'll never be able to enjoy any other cock after mine."

He squeezes Bruce's cock once before going back to the steady movement, occasionally running his thumb over the tip. "And even if ya ever make use of your own, I promise ya, no hole could _ever_ make ya feel quite like I do ~"

He presses his lips to Bruce's earlobe in a mocking kiss, quickening his thrusts and the pace of his hand. "Now c'mon, darling boy."

Jerome gives a few precisely angled thrusts, repeatedly hitting Bruce's prostate, Bruce so out of it that he doesn't seem to be realizing he's pushing back against each and every one of them, whining and whimpering and _perfect_. "Cum for me."

He does and so does Jerome. He let's go of Bruce's jaw to wrap an arm around his middle instead, keeping their bodies pressed flush together as he fills Bruce to the brim, teeth sunken in Bruce's shoulder as he keeps jerking Bruce off through their climax, the warm stickiness coating his hand making his chest swell. 

Bruce collapses back against him, tensed up ever so slightly because he doesn't want to, Jerome knows he doesn't but he can't _help_ it and Jerome loves it. Brucey boy is so fucked out he can't help but seek comfort, even if subconsciously. Jerome thinks this makes up for every birthday he didn't get to celebrate. 

Jerome inhales shakily, catching his breath before huffing, wrapping both his arms around Bruce and nuzzling his sweaty temple. "Even if ya kill me one day - which I _highly_ encourage ya to do - ya won't get rid of me."

Bruce's breath hitches when Jerome presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting copper and salt. "I'm part of you now." 


End file.
